does this mean I have to give Rod back the pyramidy thing he gave us for our front flowerbed? because I don't want to! it's from Martha Stewart!

So I was on my way back from Starbucks, having just had a nice walk with the Woof and the Babe and one tasty cup of coffee to start off my day (I don't care what you say H.; Starbucks is soooo much better than Timmy's, even if patronizing the place does confirm my yuppie status). Tomorrow is the big Mexican fiesta I'm throwing for Adoring and Wonderful Husband's 30th, and there's a lot to be done, including scrubbing away the urine that's dried underneath the toilet seat. Don't judge; if you also live with a man, I know you know what I'm talking about. And so I asked for my coffee "extra bold."

I was just about home, thinking of a cutesy blog entry I could write to get the weekend off to a light-hearted note, when I saw my neighbour Rod* from across the street walking toward me, and so I waved. I grinned stupidly as he approached to talk (the same smile I always force for my fellow THE PEOPLE WHO LIVE ON THIS STREET ARE FREAKING NUTS! Drive inhabitants, for I want to come off as a friendly and approachable neighbour, in case I ever need to borrow their lawn mover, or I want them to give me the benefit of the doubt if they see me burying a dead body in my back yard. They'll say on the six o'clock news, "But she was such a nice girl. Always smiling. We never suspected a thing!").

Anyhoo, what I thought would be a benign/mundane conversation about hostas or some similar leafy plant quickly turned into an interrogation. "Winter, did you tell Ron* I said he wanted to sleep with you?" Oh shit, I thought. Get. me. out. of. here! And then out from behind the bushes popped old Ronnie, the dude who lives next door. "Winter, just tell the truth about what he told you."

I hesitated for a bit, stunned. Is this really happening? Where are the English pubs? Where are all the accents? "Look you guys," I said. "I really don't want to get involved in this."

[So let me stop and give you a bit of background here. We've known all along that there are some weird neighbourhood dynamics. As soon as we moved in people were rushing over from all corners of the neighbourhood trying to get their side of the story in before we formed any opinions. Adoring and Wonderful Husband and I would just nod and smile, knowing full well that if we took sides we'd be the next to be gossiped about. Which is really no big deal to me, because as Dr. Phil would be pleased as punch for me saying, not an ounce of my self-worth is wrapped up in others' opinions of me, but being part of such theatrics is really energy draining, and with a Babe and a Woof, Adoring and Wonderful Husband and I need all the energy we can get.

The nattering was school-yard for the longest time, until Rod from across the street came over one Saturday morning last summer with a dire warning for Adoring and Wonderful Husband, who had the misfortune to be the one to answer the door: Beware of Ron! I know he seems like a nice guy, but he'll try and sleep with your wife! He may even try to kill you! Oh, and here's a flower from my garden. Welcome to the neighbourhood!

Did that really just happen? Adoring and Wonderful Husband's look asked of me as he closed the door. We couldn't even really laugh about it, we were so taken aback. And a bit frightened. Had we misread Ron all along? Was there a sinister reason behind him being so helpful and friendly to us? Nah, we reasoned everytime we talked about it over the course of the day. Rod's just a busybody. He's always going over to this neighbour, or that one, to gossip. I think we're backing the right horse here. But, don't say anything about this to Ron! I admonished Adoring and Wonderful Husband, who is the biggest gossip ever. I don't want to be dragged into this! Oh, I won't, he promised. I won't say anything at all.

Fast forward eight or so months. The cat goes away to Ethiopia on business, and so the mouse comes out to play. Adoring and Wonderful Husband stops by old Ronnie's for a beer (or six) and totally spills the beans. He wouldn't make a great spy, that one. All a Russian would have to do is buy him a couple shots of vodka and that man of mine would totally spill all the state secrets.]

"Well, I can't believe you'd go and tell Ron such a lie like that," Rod spat at me. "I would never say such a thing. And besides, Winter, going around the neighbourhood and repeating what others told you is a very passive-aggressive thing to do. I'm so glad the both of you live on the other side of the street from me."

Did Rod just call me a liar? At the same time as he proved himself to be one? Did he just call me passive-aggressive? What's THAT supposed to mean? And if I don't stick up for Ron right now, will Adoring and Wonderful Husband and I have to mow our own lawn from now on? I did a quick mental calculation, and decided Rod should Bring it! "Actually, Rod, you DID say that. You're asking me to tell the truth, and so I am. I'm sorry; I really didn't want to get dragged into this."

And they continued to throw F-bombs at each other in front of me, Rod and Ron, and - just like I was driving past an accident scene - I couldn't help but stop and stare, with the reality slowly sinking in that Adoring and Wonderful Husband and I were no longer neighbourhood fresh meat, but ROAD KILL instead. We are now officially involved in the daily drama that plays out on a street with too many retired people on it. And we've now officially taken sides. The side that mows our lawn. (And the side that's right.)



* To protect their anonymity, Rod and Ron are pseudonyms. Okay. I'm lying. They're not. They're totally named Rod and Ron.